Location: The Bucephalus, in parade formation with the rest of the Imperial Fleet at Sol's Mandeville Point
Date: 813.M30 (Three Months since the First Legion left Sol for Ceres)
The Conquest of Sol had gone off virtually without a hitch. Twenty Primarch left Sol in staggered duos. Working together or solo to target and subjugate the Solar System. Many great battles were fought. From Eddard Fendragons slaying of the Shoggoth to Iskandar and Perturabo breaking the Venusian War-Witches control over the Golem-Legion. After three months of hard-fought war, the Solar system was entirely under Imperial control.
Twenty preliminary Crusader Fleets, a few dozen Expedition Fleets and the Augustus Fleet of the Custodes and Emperor were now marshaled at the Edge of Sol. Within the Bucephalus, the Emperor and his sons met. It was the first time they had all been together since they left Terra, and now they stood together in the Grand Observatory of the Imperial Flagship. Earlier in the evening, the chamber had hosted a grand banquet of celebration. Dignitaries, officials, and officers had mingled among Astartes. Remembrancers had made their formal debut, recording the event for the larger Imperium. Speeches had been given, merits and awards gifted to heroes of the campaign. It had been a triumphant celebration of the newborn Imperium of Man.
That party was over and now in the star-lit chamber, the Master of Mankind stood before his sons. They had celebrated in public and the brothers had congratulated each other. Now it was time for final words of wisdom to be gifted from father to sons. As one the Primarchs knelt before their father and reaffirmed oaths of loyalty they swore once before. In the heart of the Imperial Palace on their 20th birthday. The Emperor had hoped to be able to launch the Crusade by then. Sadly that had not been the case and an additional decade had passed before the Imperium was ready. Time his sons would make as they conquered the stars.
Even if they had not left Terra then, they had reached adulthood at twenty. So it was only fitting they be given the inheritance their father had crafted from their genes. At twenty the Primarchs had been given full command of their legions and swore the Imperial Oath to their father. Promising eternal loyalty to him, and humanity. A little over a decade later those words were repeated as they prepared to take to the Stars. The words were the same, from the lowliest PDF auxilia to the Primarchs themselves. Unity in purpose, across the spectrum of mankind.
Finishing the oath, the Primarchs rose to face the Emperor. Each of them saw the Master of Mankind uniquely. The Human-Anathema had no set form, the Primarchs knew that. Even minds as powerful as theirs could only interpret the energy before them. Some saw an ancient sage, others a scarred battle-king, a regal politician, a few even saw an unassuming mortal. The only details shared between each set of eyes locked on the Emperor was the golden eyes that shone like stars and the paternal smile of pride.
Touching their minds and speaking directly to them the Emperor began: "I have lived the entire length of human civilization. Entire empires, cultures, and subspecies were born and extinguished in these long forty thousand years. My duty as humanities guardian has been a harsh one. Extinction and damnation have been hounding our kin form the moment the first simians learned to walk upright. This war I have been waging is now entering its climax. Ascension and survival or desolation and doom if we should fail."
"In those forty thousand years many allies have stood with me. Including many of your gene-sources. Yet each of them could only help me in this battle in limited ways. Time, sorrow and horrors beyond thought forced them to stop walking the shining path with me. When I first started the Primarch project I did not know what would be born of it. You, my sons, are the results of that project and I could not have hoped for better. I believe each of you in time will be capable of helping me share the burden and joy of being humanities guardian." continued the Emperor
"Once the galaxy is safe for humanity and the fires of war have dimmed. I hope you will each take your rightful place at my side. As the human species champions, guardians and guides. You were each created as both masters of war and peace. Please never forget that my children. I do not know what we will face once we leave Sol. My sight of the future is not perfect and the Great Enemy does its best to obscure fate. So I can only ask each of you to be the Men you were meant to be and rejoin me here once our species is safe. Help me struggle against the dying of the light and ignite a new flame."
Each Primarch heard roughly the same message spoken, but each was slightly unique. Tweaked to reach them on a more individual level. Both to convey a father's love and motivate the Demigods. In that moment as his speech ended golden light erupted into the Emperor's vision. Time froze and psychic chains forged by a dead god snapped. The Emperor of Mankind felt a rush of memories and messages from the God-Emperor pour into him.
He stood before the Corpse-God once again. Staring into the glowing sockets that formed the desiccated deities eyes. The voice that could shatter planets echoed through his mind. "You have done well, raised them as your own. The Primarch Project has succeeded. It is logical we now share with you truths of the Twenty we deemed not fit for you originally."
The room spun and the Emperor found himself in the Luna Labs. Twenty gestation capsules surrounded him. The God-Emperor's voice continued: "It failed, the secondary purpose of the Primarchs failed. We imbued each with a spark of our emotions but they did not consume our humanity as we told you. The spark helped the unearthly power inside of them become human. We still held our compassion and other failings then. Casting them aside only occurred when we faced the Brightest Star."
Confusion and worry filled the Emperor's mind. He had been deceived, but for what purpose? Asking that question Revelation was met with silence. Until an answer came in the form of an Angel. The ghost of Sanguinius bloomed into being in the chamber. In a melodic yet powerful voice, it spoke to the Emperor: "You needed to be their father. Not their creator. Guilt and hope for redemption drive anyone, even you, to impossible heights. I am sorry for the deception but to ensure the shining path, it was necessary."
"So why did my counterpart act so callously to some? If he had his humanity could he not see the damage it was causing?" Responded the Emperor, glaring at the red-tear stained face of the IX Primarchs spirit.
Bowing his head in grief the Primarch-Specter whispered: "We were touched by the Primordial Annihilator when we flew through the Warp. Each tainted enough to open our hearts to Chaos. The Dark-Gods proclaimed half of us would be theirs. Our Emperor could not stop that destiny, only hope some would be preserved from damnation."
As those words left the mouth of the ghost it looked at Revelation and at that moment he saw the curse that stained the Great Angel. Sanguinus eyes became pure-black, windows to the nightmare of wrath that scaled his soul. Fangs designed to slit throats and guzzle blood flashed as he spoke. "If the gods were to claim half of us, the Emperor wanted the Lost and the Damned among us to fall."
A hint of bitter fury colored the Angel's words "In a game of cosmic Regicide against false-gods even the greatest pieces must be sacrificed to win."
The Red Thirst that colored the ghost faded and the Angel was once again himself. Warily Revelation asked: " So what did you gift me? Alongside the souls of this universes pure, you gifted me something? If it was not the essence of the fallen Primarchs, then what?!"
The Angel smiled softly and spoke: "We spoke the truth about the nature of that gift, just not its effects. You hold within you the power of Mankind's Hero's once again. Once that power was used for war, hopefully, the God-Emperor's Gift can be used in peace."
A million questions entered Revelations mind before he could ask any of them, light filled his vision. The golden aura soon faded and he found himself back on the Bucephalus, surrounded by his sons. No time had passed for the Legions Masters. Recovering and hiding any evidence of the vision the Emperor felt a sense of worry pass through him. The Corpse-Emperor was manipulating him, where did it start and where would it end? What did the Angel's Ghost mean by A gift for Peace? More mysteries to uncover. Hopefully before the False-God on the Throne did something truly Insane.
Hiding his distress the Emperor said his final words of wisdom to the Primarchs. The Father and Sons parted. Each Primarch returning to their flagship. Preparing to lead their Sons to the stars. The Galaxy was mankind's and all who stood in their way would submit or die. Humanity would, no, must ascend! The price of failure would be the death of everything. Chaos would burn in the Anathemas light or the universe would dissolve in insanity.
As the Fleet readied itself, awaiting the Emperor's command to launch. Insanity struck. More than a thousand vessels made up the initial Great Crusade expedition. On every single one of them, the Primordial Annihilator was unleashed. It was thankful the fleet was cushioned by the silence of the Void. Otherwise, the screams would have echoed all the way to Terra.
Location: The High Altar of the Four Phases: Near Lacus Doloris on Luna
Date: 813.M30 (Three Months since the First Legion left Sol for Ceres)
Hidden away from the prying eyes of the Emperor's slaves the Creed of Four Phases had built a temple to their gods. A travesty of occult imagery, human sacrifice, and genetic horror. Resources had been siphoned from the glut filling Luna for the Legion creation. The Creed's followers of the Learner had many vat-grown mathematicians to help hide the cult's activities. In the nearly twenty-five years of its existence, the Creed had spread like cancer beneath Luna.
With each passing day, the loyalists became increasingly outnumbered. All without them knowing it. A hidden rebellion was rising against the Emperor. At the head of this religious insurgency was Sagitari-17. One of the first to be chosen by the Gods and the bearer of the twin artifacts. The Blade of Sacrifice and the Chalice of the Master were the holiest items of the newborn religion. With each victim, the Blade drank it grew in power. Soon it would prey upon the Emperor's own life-blood. The Chalice was a blood cloner of phenomenal complexity. Letting the sacred drop given by the Dark-Master be replicated over and over.
That Warp-Touched blood had been the center point of the Creeds plan. Trace amounts of it had contaminated every single Astartes Progenoid that passed through the Lunar Labs. This corruption sat within them, growing and winding into the Neophytes souls. Waiting for the signal to unleash its power. The time for that signal had come. With the launching of the Great Crusade, the Lunar Insurrection was ready to rise.
The first blow against the Tyrant of Terra would come not from blade or bomb. Instead by a ritual performed in the Creeds temple. This hidden cathedral to the Four Aspects was circular in shape. Capable of holding the thousands of cultists who faced the central altar in prayer. Elevated to the point the temple's ceiling needed to be domed, the High Altar was a place of great ritual power. Each cultist within the Temple focused their mental energies on the Altar and the ritual commencing on it.
Sagitari-17, the Chosen of the Four Aspects stood upon the Altar. With the Blade of Sacrifice held high above his head. All his devotion, loyalty, and service to the Four would worth it in a moment. The final part of the ritual to save the Primarchs children from the Emperor was underway. Great sorcery engines had been assembled to power the ascension of the Astartes. Weapons of flesh and steel were grown by the thousand in hidden Vaults of Luna. Yet the final component of the rebellions first blow was not an artifact or resources. It was something else stolen from the Gods by the Emperor. No, someone else stolen by the Tyrant. An abhuman minion of the Master of Terra who was fated to free himself and join the Gods. Somehow someway the Emperor had broken destiny and stole his pawn back from the Four. Now it was time for Sagitari-17 to return him to his rightful masters.
Zamora the Ancient Squat had served the Emperor for many long years. Fighting side by side during the Iron War and Unification of Terra. In that time doubts about the nature of his Liege and what he intended grew. Carefully nurtured by the Dark Gods of the Warp. If unaddressed those thoughts would have grown to treachery. Robbing the Anathema of a useful servant who could have changed the balance of fate. Somehow the Emperor saw the Gods schemes and saved his friend and alley from the pit. Promising salvation for his long-lost Hold-Kin and reaffirming the Squats faith in the Emperor.
This would not stand and the Dark Gods used their servants upon Luna to claim what they viewed as theirs. While on a secret mission for the Emperor to recover the last important artifacts on Luna he had been captured by the cultists. Dozens of gene-warriors and sorcerers were cut down by the hardened abhuman before he was subdued. Now he lay bound upon the Altar which was stained black with the blood of thousands.
Sagitari-17 awaited the tides of destiny to shift, he would offer the traitor to the gods up at the perfect moment. When the Tyrant prepared to leave Sol and conquer the galaxy his doom would be unleashed. The death and sacrifice of a divine-servant stolen would provide the power needed to unleash the Four Aspects wrath. The Lunar Priest-Lord looked down on the bound and gagged Squat. His greatly enhanced immaterial powers let him watch the abhumans emotions flicker and battle each other as it spat muffled curses. Fury, despair, adrenaline and panicked hope flared through the Squats body and brain. A perfect offering to the Four.
Feeling the moment arrive, when fate entered one of its grand crossroads. Sagitari-17 brought the obsidian blade down while screaming prayers to the Four: "Frurndar-Hashut! Leth-Phaos! Ksy-Chamon!"
The ritual blade ripped into the Squats heart. Severing its muscle-strings and splattering the Abhumans ichor all over the Altar. Zamora died with a roar of bloody vengeance. His wrathful bellows turning to gurgles as death took him. Sagitari-17 watched the now tainted soul of Zamora Gortrekzon, the Ancient Squat of Clan Kaddrin scream into the depths of the Warp. Where the Dark Master Be'lakor captured it, preparing to use it in the Great War against the Anathema.
Before Zamora's life-blood had stopped flowing reality trembled. Space/Time twitched in disgust as the Primordial Annihilator was unleashed. The Warp-Rip deep within Luna widened maddenly. Letting the raw stuff of Chaos flow into Terra's Moon. Great Psi-Machines of mutation and madness captured and unleashed the power. Feeding Chaos into the veins of each and every tainted Astartes. The material strained and ripped under the stress. Even this close to the Anathema's fire warp-rifts opened up. From Sol to the Kuiper belt the forces of Insanity poured into realspace.
Ramshackle fleets of the Lost and the Damned accompanied by Daemonic Patrons prepared to strike the Imperiums Heart. The Astronomicon had provided a beacon of sanity to the pure remnants of mankind. For the fallen, it signaled a march to war. Now a mad crusade of Chaos, assembled from throughout the galaxy was unleashed. Lunar Sorcerers transmitted knowledge to the dark hordes and unleashed the Cults armies upon the Loyalists. Chaos had come to Sol.
Location: Command Deck of the Tiber-Prince. Current Flagship of the XVI Legion
Date: 813.M30 (Three Months since the First Legion left Sol for Ceres)
Ezekyle Abaddon had been recruited into the XVI Legion after surviving gene-seed implantation. The genetic material of the XVI Primarch had taken to him phenomenally. Abaddon was stronger, faster, tougher and smarter than virtually any other recruit. He had rocketed to the position of Chapter Master Abbadon XVI-I-II-0-0-Cohort-Alpha. Which in plain gothic meant he lead the second chapter of the first formation.
Now he and the other Legion elite stood aboard the Tiber-Princes command deck. Their Primarch had returned and now the XVI Legion awaited to order to launch. Anticipation crackled between the Astartes, mortals, and Tech-Priests that manned the Bridge. The Great Crusade was about to ignite. Horus Lupercali: The XVI Primarch rose from his command throne at the beckoning of some psionic signal. Raising his Sword up he declared: "The Galaxy will be Mankinds! We the Emperor's Angels of Death will conquer it for our species. This has been decreed by the Master of Mankind and none shall stand in our way! FOR THE EMPEROR AND MANKIND!"
A resounding cheer echoed throughout the ship and its kin as each Primarch gave similar addresses. Master Abaddon along with the other Legion elite raised their fists in triumph. Roaring out: "For the Primarch! For the Emperor! for Mankind!"
The great Warp-Drives of the fleet began to rumble as they ignited. Ready to pierce the fabric of space/time and carry the Imperium to its destiny. All while cheers and cries of celebration echoed. At that moment the fell ritual occurring within Luna completed. Zamora's soul thundered into the Warp. Causing a wave of chaos to ripple through the tides of fate. These waves in the Sea of Souls echoed out, all the way to the Fleet and beyond. Master Abaddon did not know this, he did not know that a taint in his very flesh was keyed into this Warp-wave. What Abaddon did know was a blood-curdling scream filled the bridge, and he was the source of it.
Intense, mind-shattering pain filled Abaddon's mind. It felt like his blood was on fire and his bones had become jagged iron. Daemonic ichor attacked his nerves and seeped into his brain. Where it fed visions of grimdarkness into the Astartes mind.
*A talon that tasted the blood of Gods, Angels, and Daemons upon his right hand.*
*The End of Empires calling out to him, its rightful master.*
*Demi-Gods bound to the Warps masters kneeling before him.*
*Legions, old and new serving his every whim. A weapon of unstoppable conquest and power*
*The very gods themselves dueling for his favor. For he was Warmaster of Chaos!*
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" howled Abaddon. The dark temptations of the Warp wavered as he fought the visions. Even as his flesh twisted and the Gods of Chaos whispered promises of dominion to him Abaddon stood firm. He knew it was lies and evil. Ezekyle Abaddon had been chosen to defend humanity. To be its guardian not its enslaver. Screaming in pain and fury the Man who once was destined to Despoil the Galaxy rejected Chaos utterly. Abaddon would protect his tribe, not matter how large from the Predators in the Dark.
Abaddon's soul dueled the corruption in his flesh. Working with the spiritual and biological augments afforded to the Angels of Death to resist the Dark Masters power. After nearly a minute of this miniature war fought on the psychic and cellular level Abaddon turned the tide. The corruption was pushed back. Self-Control and dominion of self bested Chaos. Driving it out of his body.
With a roar of righteous fury Abaddon the Redeemer, as he would be known from this moment on vomited up the corruption. Leaving a mass of twitching, whispering Daemonic filth on the Bridges deck. With utter disdain he brought his armored boot down on it, crushing the warp-tumor. Spitting up a few more gobbets of blood the Astartes Champion slumped to one knee. His internal organs were ravaged, his muscles frayed and bones chipped. With pained effort, Abaddon pulled himself to his feet and looked around the Bridge.
Every one of his Brothers suffered from the Warp-taint. Some screamed others ripped at their armor and flesh. A few even stood perfectly still, dueling the madness in perfect quietness. Abaddon was the first to break the dark-spell. What he did not know was he was the first Astartes in the entire fleet to free himself. Gritting his teeth and fighting the pain Abaddon stumbled over to his closet brother. A Captain who screamed curses at a "False Emperor." Grabbing the gibbering Astartes by the shoulders Abaddon said the first thing that came into his mind. A phrase buried in his psyche by an encounter with an Old Priest. With utter certainty, he told his suffering gene-kin "The Emperor Protects! And so do we!"
Those words broke through the curse and caused the maddened Astartes to grab Abaddons arms. At that moment the Battle-Brothers held each other and repeated over and over "The Emperor Protects" after a few trembling moments the Captain expelled the taint from himself and slumped over. Abaddon checked his brother's vitals and moved onto the next stricken Astartes. As he did he noticed a few other figures doing similar. Other Battle-Brothers that had freed themselves after him. Abaddon recognized Hastur Sejanus, Iacton Qruze, and Severian De'lupe among their number. Desperately Abaddon looked around for his Genefather. The Primarch was still seated on his command throne. His great gauntlets crushing the thrones armrests. A look of incredible concentration on his face. Psychic electricity lashed out from Horus. Whatever madness tormented the Legion was being battled by their Father.
Abaddon stumbled towards the Primarch, as he did Horus's eyes shot open and locked onto him. They were not the usual kind but strong eyes of the XVI Primarch but molten balls of golden fire. Eyes Abaddon had only seen once before, and would never forget. The Master of Mankind was speaking through his son.
In fact, each of the twenty demigods spoke the same message to their legions. Sent by the Emperor to his Astartes grandchildren. "The Enemy in the Warp attacks, hold strong and believe in yourself. For Humanity and the Imperium!"
The message rippled through the Astartes of the fleet. Some felt its full effect and were freed from the chaotic visions, others felt a whisper in their psyche as the torment continued. Abaddon had rid himself of most of the taint but it infested his very genetics. It gnawed at his organs and lit up his nerves in agony. He paid it little heed as he rallied his brothers. Pulling them from the visions.
Through force of will and bonds of brotherhood the XVI legions elite steadily freed themselves from the Dark Gods grip. Visions that would have driven even the mightiest heroes of humanity to the darkness were resisted. Thanks to the hypnomat techniques developed from Abaddon's childhood encounter with the Last Priest. Along with the soul-links that bound each legionnaire to their Anathema empowered Primarchs almost every Astartes could resist the corruption. Almost every Astartes, not all of them….
Captain Lanartor Voalar could not face the darkness. He was the only one on the Tiber-Prince's bridge to fall. A little more than 2% of all infected Astartes embraced the Four and turned their back on mankind. Volar and the other damned fell not because the rituals of Luna or any omnipotent will of the Gods. They were damned simply because they were weak. In comparison to mortal men, they were invincible and incorruptible. To the standard set by the Master of Mankind, they were found lacking. When evil offered them power in exchange for their species soul the damned gladly accepted. Proving that even superhumans rise to the occasion or fail utterly.
Voalar sold his soul for a chance to walk the Path of Glory. All the arcane energy that was meant to corrupt and mutate the entire Legions was pushed into him and his fellow failures. The psycho-genetic taint the Lunar Cultists had infected the Astartes with should have acted as an anchor. A stain upon their bodies and soul born of the First Daemon Prince's blood. The energy pulled from the Warp Rift and channeled through the occult rituals would then have used the stain to mutate and utterly ruin the Astartes. Turning them into horrors akin to veterans of the God-Emperor's Long War. Those who could resist Chaos's mental attacks were physically damaged by the corruption but not claimed by the Dark Gods. Leaving the massive amount of Warp Energy to fill only a few vessels.
Lesser mortals would have been violated into Chaos Spawn or worse. Yet even these failures of Astartes were Astartes. The ritual energy turned them into avatars of Chaos. Exalted Daemon hosts born to kill. Captain Voalar embraced Chaos and it embraced him. His armor fused to his flesh and became more like a insects armor than ceramite. The jawline that looked so similar to Horus's own was split into a pair of acid-soaked mandibles. Two eyes became four then six. Muscle, bone, and neurons were rewired and glutted with insanity.
In only a few moments the Astartes Captain of the XVI Legion once known as Lanartor Voalar was gone. In his place was a Primarch sized insectoid horror that's very flesh oozed corruption. Sixteen lesser Daemons of each God inhabited the body. Working together in a concert of malice. It's sudden appearance and the waves of revulsion that poured off it stunned even the recovered Astartes on the bridge. A few mortals who had so far resisted the insanity started screaming in horror at the sight.
After getting its bearings the Daemon-Host locked onto its target. Primarch Horus Lupercali, who still sat motionless in the command throne, assisting his father in some great task. Moving at reality bending speeds the Daemon-host charged Horus. Ready to sink its cursed talons into the Demigods flesh. Two Astartes close to the Primarch charged to intercept the creature. Ezekyle Abaddon and Iacton Qruze. The second and sixth Chapter Masters of the First and Fourth formation respectably. The twin battle-brothers. One a battered veteran of Terran and Chthonian wars, the other heir to the XVI Primarch in every sense.
The two Astartes blitzed the Daemon-Host form either side. Crackling Power Swords pierced the beast's sides. It let out a foul screech and swatted at the Battle-Brothers. It was clumsy and savage. Unused to the limitations of the materium. Any full Battle-Brother of the Legio Astartes would have been able to parry the blow. Unfortunately, both Abaddon and Qruze were bruised and bloody. Each barely managed to dance out of claw reach. Nicking their armor and leaving a nasty scar on Abaddon's left cheek.
With each second the Daemon-Host became more accustomed to the Materium. It grew in strength and speed as the already wounded Astartes tired. Still, they fought on, hacking away at muscle and bone. Until the Host struck out with a taloned foot. The blow caught Qruze square in the chest. Launching the Astartes nearly thirty feet into a row of consoles. Iactons chestplate and ribs were pulverized. Luck and the Primarchs genetics stopped the blow from popping his lungs. Coughing up blood and flecks of excised mutation Qruze attempted to rejoin the fight. Blood filling his left lung and nearly every alarm his Power Armor possessed going off in response to his movement dissuaded him. Rapidly losing conscious the Chapter Master swore a bloody oath of vengeance against the Dark forces of the Warp.
Ezekyle Abaddon now stood alone against the Daemon-host. His body and blade ready to break in defense of his Genefather. A wet noise one could interpret as laughter escaped the Hosts mouth. Its arms split into four limbs with a disgusting crack. Then the host's talons fused together into massive envenomed blades. The toxin leaking from the blades was an old favorite of the Dark Gods. It had first been synthesized by the Kinebarch Empire, in their war against the Aeldari. Even with it they had still lost and fell into the Plaguefathers embrace. It was a terrible mixture of material and psionic components created for a singular purpose. To kill gods. It had felled Horus Lupercal and Roboute Guilliman in another universe. Now it was aimed at Abaddon and his Genefathers neck.
The Daemon-Host lashed out at the Astartes with all four bladed limbs. Abaddon was skilled and strong yet could only defend against the onslaught. The flurry of swords seemed everywhere at once. If he blocked one or even two another slipped through his guard and racked his armor. A score of cuts that even his enhanced flesh could not seal steadily covered his body. The first injury he had suffered, the scratch on his cheek still bled, and some part of Abaddon knew it would never heal properly.
Still, he fought on. Hoping to delay the monster just a second longer. The Host tried to sidestep Abaddon and continue to the Primarch, with a howl of rage the Astartes lunged after it. In doing so he fell for its feint. Two blades caught his Power-Sword and the other two rammed into his Lungs. Great jagged edges ripped Abaddons flesh and the Creature picked him by the impaling blades. The Daemon-Host lifted the limp Abaddon above his head and let the Astartes blood dribble into its fiendish maw. Other Astartes who had stood back till now, fearing to interrupt Abaddon's concentration charged now. The Creatures two unoccupied arms batted them away as it fed.
In that moment when all four of the Daemonhosts arms were occupied Abaddon came to life. A pulse of steroids, synth-flesh and combat drugs from his Revitalizer Organ pushed the Astartes wounded biology into overdrive. Abaddon had held tight to his sword even while on the edge of death waiting for this moment. He did not waste it. A crackle of energy was the only warning the monster once known as Captain Lanartor Voalar got. Abaddon the Redeemer stabbed his sword into the meeting of the Hosts neck and shoulder. The sword ripped through armor and into muscle and vein.
Toxic blood splattered Abaddon's armor as he pushed the blade deeper. The Daemon-Host roared and fury and tossed the badly wounded Astartes off its blades. Abaddon landed in a heap of broken bones and armor next to the Command throne. Ezekyle fought against the encroaching darkness with everything he had left. Maintaining consciousness was all he could do. The Host stalked towards Horus as it pulled Abaddon's blade from its body. Two arms lay limp at its side. Daemonic energy worked to reknit muscle and bone but the damage was severe. Foul insectoid laughter echoed from its mandibles. The XVI Primarch was always doomed to be a sacrifice. This reality would be no different. It raised its last two blades high and prepared to strike down Horus Lupercali. Abaddon let out a bloody howl as the blades descended.
Then near instantly the Daemon-host was sent flying backward. Faster than both Astartes and Daemonhost could process Horus had risen from his throne and struck the monster that had once been his son. Wearing intricate alabaster Terminator armor and wielding a great Power-mace the Primarch looked every bit a God of War. Horus charged the Daemonhost. His bolter spitting death and his Mace crackling with esoteric power. Bolt-shells detonated inside the creature as it tried to recover from the first blow. It hissed and spat as its arms uselessly attempted to deflect the earth-shattering blows of Horus's mace.
Roaring with elemental fury the Primarch brought his mace down on the Hosts head. Smashing its skull to pieces. Even with its brain splattered across the deck, it managed to howl a few final curses and taunts in the dark tongue of the Warp. With calm disdain, Horus knocked it to the ground and brought his boot down on the Hosts chest cavity. Turning its organs into a black sludge. Almost as an afterthought Horus whispered a psionic mantra and ignited the Daemonhosts body with pyrokinesis.
Looking over to Abaddon the Primarch approached his son. Placing his great armored hand on the injured lieutenants shoulder he spoke: "You did well my son, I am proud of you"
Psychic energy poured from Primarch to Astartes, healing injuries and purifying the venom. Once Abaddon was in a stable condition Horus walked to the center of the Bridge and proclaimed both verbally and psysically to the broader crew: "The enemies of mankind wish to murder the Imperium in its crib! They do this because they fear us! They fear the righteous fury of humanity resurgent! They shall fail today and the next! For we are the Emperor's chosen and our duty is to mankind! Prepare to counter-attack! The Angels of Death have come!"
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